


Valentine's Day

by PetrichorPerfume



Series: Rainbow Marbles [100]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, Loving Dean, Multi, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2027439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetrichorPerfume/pseuds/PetrichorPerfume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean isn't romantic, except when he maybe sort-of kind-of is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Valentine's Day

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do something special for the 100th part of this series.

Dean isn’t romantic. He never was, and he never will be. He wasn’t romantic in a past life, wasn’t romantic before he died or after, isn’t romantic in his afterlife, and will never be romantic. Ever.

 

Dean isn’t romantic, but Cas is, and so is Sam. He knows that they won’t _say_ anything if he doesn’t do anything for Valentine’s Day, but they’ll _think_ disappointed thoughts and try and fail to hide disappointed looks and _be_ disappointed. And disappointed pets are annoying, so Dean decides to do a little something for his least favorite holiday.

 

He doesn’t go overboard, of course. That would be stupid and fussy and romantic and he’s a _demon,_ for hell’s sake.

 

He doesn’t spend hours researching Valentine’s Day activities on the Internet. He doesn’t go to an upscale store in Belgium and spend over five hundred Euros on truffles and candy bars and marzipan and pralines.

 

He doesn’t treat his pets to breakfast in bed. He doesn’t buy a heart cookie cutter and make them sunny-side up heart-shaped eggs. He doesn’t cut hearts into their toast. He doesn’t make them pink hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. He doesn’t make them heart-shaped chocolate chip pancakes, nor does cut out little watermelon hearts and stick an orange arrow through them. He doesn’t make them raspberry parfaits and write a little note on the side of each telling them both how much he loves them.

 

He doesn’t bake them Valentine’s Day cookies or red velvet cupcakes or buy special red and pink M&M’s. He doesn’t make them brownies with said M&M’s, nor does he prepare chocolate-dipped strawberries. He doesn’t make them red pudding either.

 

He doesn’t serve them personal pizzas with heart-shaped pepperonis for lunch. He doesn’t cut little slices of mozzarella cheese into heart shapes, and he doesn’t make strawberry roses.

 

He doesn’t set the table or put out candles or dim the lights before dinner. He doesn’t spend more time holding their hands than eating. He doesn’t hand-feed them tiny heart candies for dessert.

 

He doesn’t make love to them after dinner, and he doesn’t take them outside afterwards to see the stars. He doesn’t arrange for a meteor shower that night, and he doesn’t take turns kissing them every time a shooting star streaks across the sky.

 

He doesn’t sing them the cheesiest love song he knows, and he _definitely_ doesn’t write them love letters.    

 

(Except that maybe, just maybe, he does.)


End file.
